She had forgotten to lock the door!

But it was only Aunt Amy.

Fear and relief came in almost the same breath.  She steadied herself against the dresser.

“Shut the door!”

Aunt Amy obeyed.  But she shut herself inside the door.  “What do you want?” Mary never wasted words on Amy—­“Ah!”

With a motion so swift that it seemed like a conjuror’s miracle, Aunt Amy had slipped from her stand by the door, snatched up the open box, and was back again before the choking cry on the other’s lips had formed itself.

“Esther says you musn’t take these,” said Aunt Amy in her colourless voice.

For a second Mary hesitated.  If she made the murderous spring which every baffled nerve in her tortured body urged her to make, Amy would scream.  A scream would mean, Miss Philps—­Esther—­the doctor:  agony and defeat.  With a mighty effort she held herself.  She tried to speak quietly.

“Don’t be a fool, Amy.  This is some medicine the doctor gave me himself.  Hand it to me at once.”

Aunt Amy smiled.  It was a sly little smile.  It made Mary want to rave, for it said more plainly than words that Aunt Amy knew.  Swiftly she changed her tactics.  Her face softened, became gentle, entreating—­

“Amy—­dear.  I am only going to use a little.  If you love me, give me the box.”

Useless!  Aunt Amy still smiled.  She put the box behind her.  With her other hand she felt for the door knob.

“Amy, give it to me!  What have I ever done to you?”

“You stole my ring.”  In exactly the same tone she might have said, “You are a murderess.”

The ring!  Mary had forgotten the ring.  Wait, perhaps it was not hopeless even yet.  Amy placed an absurd value on that ring—­and she, Mary, had the gem in her possession.  She did not know that Esther had found and restored it.  To her it was still in the box at the bottom of her drawer.  A dazzling plan flashed through her excited brain.  She would bribe Amy with the ring.  The thought nerved her.

“Do you really want your ring back?” she asked sweetly.

Aunt Amy paused with her hands on the door knob.

“I have it back.”

“Oh, no.  You haven’t.  It is in a box in my drawer.”

“It is not.  Esther gave it to me!” But there was a spark of fear in Amy’s eyes.  Contradiction so easily confused her. Had Esther given her the ring?  She felt oddly uncertain.

Mary laughed, and the laugh increased Aunt Amy’s confusion.  After all it was quite possible that Mary had taken the ring again.  It had been locked away and hidden, but locks and hiding-places were never an obstacle to “Them.”

“I’ve got it safe enough!” taunted Mary, tormentingly.

The spark of fear flamed.  Amy took a swift step forward.  “Give it to me!”

“Give me the box—­and I will.”

Aunt Amy had ceased to care about the box.  Almost she placed it in the outstretched hand, then, with quick cunning, caught it back.